


The Sergeant and the Soldier

by TreasureHunter



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Reality, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Dark, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 16:04:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20641898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TreasureHunter/pseuds/TreasureHunter
Summary: Far away from reality, a Sergeant and a Soldier meet in a clearing.





	The Sergeant and the Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this piece a few years ago (I cannot even remember when!) and subsequently forgot all about it, until I found it again recently.
> 
> I hope you guys like it; I am quite proud of this work!
> 
> Now, enjoy?

He was in a meadow, surrounded on all sides by high trees. They were bare, and against the grey sky they contrasted starkly. The grass was grey too, and it made a cracking sound under his heavy boots. He looked around, but couldn’t see far outside the meadow. Shadows distorted his vision, lingering between the trunks and spying on him. He knew shadows were just the absence of light, and that they were in no way sentient, but he could not shake the sensation of eyes watching. There was of course always the possibility of people hiding in the shadows, but for some reason he did not quite believe that, though he didn’t rule anything out. He was trained too well to make such amateurish mistakes.

He heard a branch _crack_. He turned around, the movement completed instinctively and long before his mind had consciously registered the sound. He was completely silent as he did so. His eyes roamed the meadow, tracking down the origin of the sound.

At first he didn’t notice the other man who stood some distance opposite him, just outside the edge of the meadow and half hidden by the empty trees. The man had not been there before, he was certain. He would not have missed the now obvious presence. Slowly he moved his hand to the pistol that was hidden in his jacket and pulled the weapon out. His gaze never left the presence in the shadow. There was something familiar about the pose, something that resonated deep in his chest. That was the only reason he did not shoot immediately, to incapacitate the potential threat, if not to kill it.

He lowered his gun and cocked his head, trying to catch a glimpse of the face that was still hidden, but that contained eyes that were fixed on him. It only then occurred to him that he could not see the entire right half of the body, still partly covered by the dead bast of the tree. Any kind of weapon the other man could have trained upon him. Again the urge to just shoot welled up in him, but he controlled it, pushed it away. He did not know why. It was like following one instinct to overrule another.

Taking a slow, deliberate step backwards, he bent down his knees and put his weapon on the ground, away, more to stop himself from doing anything he might regret (regret? why?) than to try to win some sort of trust from the presence.

The gesture ended up doing both. As the other moved from behind the tree, it was as if the shadows crept back and let him pass into the light that sporadically filtered through the overcast heavens.

The man took involuntarily another step back. The presence was now fully visible, dressed in black and dark grey leathers that made him blend in with his surroundings. The many layers all cast shadows over the other, making the other appear as a ghost that floated over the ground. Nonetheless black army boots adorned his feet, well-worn and slightly frayed. His appearance was frightening; a crude but extremely effective mix between standard military outfit and the various items a mercenary might have collected over the years. But that was not what sent the tremor down his spine.

Lastly the face came into view. It was angular and thick tresses of dark hair still obscured it partially, but he knew that face. He knew that face better than his own (his own? did he have his own face?), recognized it as the face that stared back at him with dead eyes every time he looked into a mirror. He did not look into a mirror often, consciously avoided them even, so as not to look at that face.

It stared right back at him. There was something on it, something that was not normally there. Surprise? No. Not surprise. Recognition? Not recognition either. But maybe a very little bit of both, just enough to give an expression to those dead features. Just enough to light that precious spark of curiosity, just enough to not kill on sight.

He had not been wrong. A large gun was loosely held in the left hand of the other. It was not aimed and neither was the safety flipped off, but he knew the other was skilled enough to not let that hinder him. He watched the other warily for any sudden moves and the other appeared to do the same to him, despite him being unarmed. But that was not true, and they both knew it.

The other (other? did that mean there was a _me_ and a _he_?) pulled a knife from its holster and threw it over his shoulder with a careless flick of his wrist, not checking the trajectory as the dagger embedded itself deeply in the dead wood of the tree behind him. He flinched at the appearance of the knife and his muscles tensed, ready to spring into action. He only slowly relaxed as he registered the knife was not aimed at him.

He suddenly understood what the other meant. _You are not a threat, I am not a threat_. Who of them was meant with _you_ and _I_ was not clear. The fact that the other still held a rather alarming-looking gun in his hands just mattered significantly less. He took a small step forwards, hesitated, then took another one. The other just watched, not-entirely-dead eyes following his every move. Then he too moved towards him.

The other moved like a soldier, he then decided. Precise and powerful and something more. Something silent. But _soldier_ was a good start. It was a good name too. _Soldier_. If the other were Soldier, then who was he? The question was sudden and shocking, and utterly important in the emptiness of his mind. He tried to remember, but found that there were no memories. But he carried a gun, and his own clothing was army-regulated as well. Did that mean he was a Soldier too? No, that felt not right (since when is there _right_? is there _wrong_ too?), but not unpleasant either (he knew things like _pleasant_ and _unpleasant_, he found). Something else then. Close, but not the same. Private? He scoffed at the notion, though he did not know why. Perhaps he ought to try a higher rank? Major? No, that title was reserved for someone else, someone who was more important than he. Captain? The idea of him as a Captain made him feel physically ill, for if he was Captain, then… then what? He didn’t know. But he didn’t want to think of it anymore, so he had no name. He was just he (or _I_, something inside him whispered).

Soldier was looking at him too, taking him in and assessing him. A slight frown appeared on Soldier’s face, wrinkling his forehead and making him look strangely innocent (was he?) and young. It was the same face that stared back at him from a reflective surface, but there was something different now. He could not say what was, as there were no changes in the expression, but something had happened to it.

He was not sure what to do, and it appeared like the Soldier did neither. For a few moments silence reigned, awkward and thick in the empty air, and they broke it at the same time.

“Who am I?” asked the Soldier.

“Who am I?” asked he.

Originally, he’d meant to ask: Who are you?, but somewhere along the way from his brain to his lips the words changed. Startled he shut his mouth, heard his teeth clap together. The Soldier appeared to do the same, had just as little been expecting his question. Somehow he knew the Soldier was not used to things happening of their own accord, so he answered the question as best as he could.

“You’re Soldier,” he said.

Soldier looked up at him, and this was the first time he saw something flicker in those dark eyes. “Soldier?” he repeated, sounding unsure. Insecure, almost. “Soldier?”

He simply nodded, but it seemed to be enough for Soldier. “Soldier,” he repeated again, but this time the word was no question. There was a trace of wonder in his voice, as if the simple gift of having a name to call himself was more than he knew to ever ask for.

Soldier suddenly righted himself to his full height and looked him straight in the eye. “Sergeant,” he said. “You’re Sergeant.”

Now he knew why Soldier had looked so out of it. “Sergeant,” he whispered, tasting the name on his tongue. It fit, he decided. He _liked_ it. It awakened something deep inside him, something that had been long forgotten but never completely left. It was frightening and exciting and he wanted to know.

Soldier watched him as he came to these realizations, patient and wary, but less so than before. His entire stance had changed, was less closed off and less intimidating, as if he was consciously trying to open up but did not exactly know how to do it. Sergeant noticed the large gun dangled from Soldier’s gloved fingertips, almost touching the ground and not far away from being dropped. The arm holding it twitched and the sleeve slid up a little bit.

Where flesh was supposed to be, Soldier’s right arm was shifting silver metal. It should look strange to Sergeant, but it didn’t. It almost looked _natural_. Had the pale light not reflected back in his eyes, he would not have noticed the slight difference in thickness on the upper arm, the clenched fist that possessed entirely too much power. He surveyed his own right arm, and found hard, calloused and scarred skin, ugly to the eye but made of flesh nonetheless. He almost preferred the smooth lines of exquisitely crafted metal plates.

Unconsciously Sergeant took a step towards Soldier, and when Soldier did not back up, he took another one. The grey dry grass broke under his heavy combat boots and the sound carried in the stillness. Soldier tensed, but allowed Sergeant to approach and take the metal arm in his hands. Sergeant was _fascinated_, and when he pulled off the black leather glove and rolled up the sleeve he saw that the cold metal extended to the elbow, the shoulder, and was integrated into Soldier’s shoulder blade. Soldier’s eyes followed Sergeant’s fingers as they touched and discovered, and Sergeant noticed it, slowed down the way his palms rapidly forced the prosthetic fingers in different positions while he listened to the clicking noises of the layered material. He withdrew completely after he saw the gleaming fingers beginning to shake ever so slightly and saw the frown in Soldier’s forehead disappear. He flexed his hand and then pushed down his sleeve, leaving only his hand bare.

Sergeant did not think Soldier was embarrassed or self-conscious regarding his now rather obvious oddity; he knew the other did not think about himself in those kind of terms. Did Soldier think about himself in any terms? The question suddenly popped up in Sergeant’s mind and he found he was not very certain (do not listen to them; this is the only _truth_ and they _lie_) about the answer.

A dull sound raised Sergeant from his thoughts. He looked over to Soldier and saw that his fingers had slipped, that the big gun had fallen on the ground as his fingers finally relaxed themselves fully. Sergeant found Soldier’s eyes boring into his own and did not dare move when Soldier slowly came to him. There was hesitation on his face but Sergeant didn’t give any sign that he’d seen it. He waited, curious what Soldier would do.

Those same metal fingertips that he’d studied earlier now touched his own, mirroring their actions. Scars littered every inch of bared skin and Sergeant looked away as Soldier’s dark eyes followed the lines with an intensity that hadn’t been there before. Eventually Soldier receded and Sergeant rolled down his sleeve, hiding the skin that lay beneath. He glanced once more at Soldier’s shining metal wrist and found himself wanting the same. It looked so beautiful, even in the dull light that penetrated the dark clearing. He couldn’t imagine how bright the sun would reflect from the ever-shifting metal.

Soldier saw his look, but didn’t comment; Sergeant knew the other had nothing to say. And that was fine; words were mere sounds anyway, meaningless and easily forgotten (and _everything_ will be forgotten, sooner or later). He cannot, after all, have memories when Soldier does not have them either. He did not understand it, but the thought nonetheless made complete sense to him. He let it be.

Sergeant gestured to Soldier. “Are you dead?” He didn’t know where the question came from, nor what he exactly meant by ‘dead’; Soldier was standing right in front of him, after all. No wounds punctured his body and no red colored his clothes. Soldier seemed to understand his meaning though, and a thoughtful expression crossed his face, the same face that Sergeant always saw reflected in the mirror. Lines smoothed over and others appeared and the eyes closed for a short while. “Not yet,” Soldier answered slowly, but his tone was flat and uninterested. And Sergeant _knew_.

Sergeant knew what he’d intended with his question, what he’d really asked, and he knew what Soldier’s answer meant. Looking up he could see Soldier knew it too, and was watching him once again, studying him intensely with those dark eyes he knew so well.

For the first time Soldier’s lips turned up into a sad smile that made Sergeant want to cry (why are you crying? You are not supposed to cry; stop crying!), but he didn’t.

Soldier backed away and turned around. Walking a few paces, he picked up the gun he’d dropped earlier and marched back, putting the weapon into Sergeant’s hands. Instead of large and clumsy, like Sergeant expected it to feel, the weight was well-balanced and his fingers somehow knew where to put themselves. Expertly he pulled the weapon up to his shoulder and let it rest there for a moment. Soldier moved a few meters back and spread his arms; a few rays of sunlight managed to penetrate the cloud cover and glinted off the metal plates.

Once again the smile formed on Soldier’s face, and Sergeant mirrored the action. Their eyes made contact. Almost automatically his face then pressed against the scope and found the small space between Soldier’s eyes. A head shot; a mercy kill (does he offer _mercy_? Is this _mercy_? He doesn’t know). Then Sergeant pulled the safety off, aimed, and fired (he had done this many times, he knew; muscle memory did not fade away that easily).

A split second of pain, and then Sergeant felt his body falling to the ground before his vision faded away.


End file.
